


Read You Like a Book

by Kacka



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Childhood Friends, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-18
Updated: 2016-11-18
Packaged: 2018-08-31 19:10:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8590243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kacka/pseuds/Kacka
Summary: Clarke moves back to her childhood hometown and finds her childhood best friend right where she left him: at the library.





	

Clarke knows it’s irrational that when she moves back to her childhood hometown, the first place she wants to go is the library.

Sure, getting a library card is vaguely on her To Do list, along the same lines as figuring out which mechanic she’ll go to when her car breaks down. It’s not a pressing issue, but when it becomes relevant to her interests she’ll cross it off and move on.

The real reason the library calls to her the moment she gets all of her boxes inside the house is that it was her go-to hangout spot last time she lived here. 

She was twelve when her parents moved them away, the library one of the few spots in town (in addition to the neighborhood pool and playground, but sadly excluding the ice cream parlor) that was close enough for her to bike to on her own.

And she preferred it to the pool and the playground, and even the ice cream, because the library is where she knew she would find Bellamy Blake.

In her memory, she can picture him perfectly: glasses comically too big for his freckled face, hair too long and too wild, just like his gangly-limbed self. Acne and perpetually skinned knees. Clothes that were too small. Smartassery and staunch loyalty to his friends and hands that were always holding a book unless they were curled into fists.

She doesn’t even know if he lives here anymore. 

They used to lie on their backs in her yard, itchy from grass and bug bites, books stuffed under their heads like the hardest, most dream-filled pillows in the world, and talk about where they’d go if they could. 

She’d describe the tropical destinations of her family vacations, and he’d paint pictures of scraps of history scattered across the world. He used to talk like he believed his words could really take him far away from the town they both felt stuck in.

It’s part of why they liked the library so much. When she’d draw the two of them leading the army of Narnia into battle, or he’d spin tales about the two of them taking Hogwarts by storm, it was easy to forget. 

To leave behind the world in which he couldn’t get his prescription updated because his mom couldn’t afford to buy him new glasses. The world in which she’d taken to blasting music in her Walkman to drown out her parents fighting. The world in which she could see holes worn into the bottom of his shoes every time he propped his feet in her lap.

The only thing worse than feeling stuck was the feeling of being ripped from her life when her parents moved them across the country for a fresh start.

Considering that they bonded over the desire to get away, the logical part of her mind isn’t expecting to run into Bellamy at the library. 

She takes a car instead of her bike, and the shelves have been rearranged in the past decade-- probably more than once-- but it’s familiar enough that as she wanders the aisles, her instinct is to check each one for that familiar head of inky curls.

When she turns a corner and sees him sitting behind the reference desk, scanning barcodes, she can’t quite believe it. 

He’s not a boy anymore; he’s a  _ man _ . His voice is deeper as he laughs with the elderly librarian working next to him, his glasses fit his pimple-free face, and his hair is-- well, it’s every bit as unruly as it ever was (barring that time with the hair gel), but it looks purposeful now. He’s broader in the shoulders and looks as if he’s adopted an intense workout regimen, and he’s traded graphic tees and ripped jeans for a button-up shirt and a  _ tie _ , but it’s undeniably Bellamy. 

Her heart jolts a little when she realizes her feet are carrying her forward.

She makes herself pause, standing off to the side until he and the other librarian notice her, and when he does he offers her a fake customer service smile.

“Can I help you?”

She bites her lip. Of course he doesn’t recognize her. It’s been almost fifteen years. 

“I was hoping to sign up for a library card.”

“You’re in the right place.” He clicks his mouse a couple of times, running a hand through his hair in a move she’s seen a thousand times. “Alright,” he says, eyes glued to his screen. “Name?”

“Clarke Griffin.”

His eyes snap to hers, his jaw dropping comically. She offers him a smile and the next thing she knows, he’s rounding the counter to pull her into a hug.

“Holy shit!” 

“That’s my line,” she laughs, letting herself melt into him. Her chin fits against his neck like puzzle pieces slotting together easily, perfectly. He seems to think so too, if the way his very firm arms band around her waist, like close friends and not at all like strangers, is any indication.

“You’re right,” he says, drawing back but not completely letting go. “I shouldn’t be swearing on the clock. There might be kids around, but-- holy  _ crap _ , Clarke Griffin!”

“Back at you, Bellamy Blake.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I moved back,” she grins. “Only waited fourteen years and some change to say those words. You work here now?”

“Yeah, I talked them into it.” He smiles as if it were the con of the century. Like he thinks he’s getting away with something. “Told them they weren’t getting rid of me, so they might as well put me on the payroll. I’m bringing us into the digital era.”

“Says the man who isn’t on Facebook.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles, ducking his head to hide how pleased he is that she tried looking him up. Even after all these years, Clarke still knows his tells. “Better late than never, right?”

“Keep telling yourself.”

He runs his hand through his hair again, messing it up further, and she lets herself smile fondly this time. “So, uh-- library card?”

“Library card,” she agrees, leaning on the counter as he walks back around. The elderly librarian is very pointedly not watching them, though she shoots Bellamy a look that has his ears turning pink. Clarke is delighted.

“Address?” He nods when she gives it. “You’re close to O’s place.”

“Octavia still lives in town?”

“Yeah, she’s a personal trainer and fitness instructor at one of those crossfit places. Started doing it in college and decided she didn’t want to stop.” The affection and pride in his voice is familiar too, and Clarke aches with it. She didn’t realize how big a hole Bellamy left in her life.

“And you?” Clarke asks, tentative.

“I work here.”

She rolls her eyes. Muscle memory.

“Obviously. How’d you get from A to B? I’ll admit I was hoping to run into you, but I was half expecting to hear you’d run off to some ruins somewhere.”

“I did,” he says easily. “My scholarship included an international exchange program. I got to see all kinds of cool old stuff. But--” He shrugs. “I realized that I was still poor and bitter no matter where I was. Traveling didn’t change that. So I figured out another way to be happy and moved back here.”

“That’s so mature,” Clarke marvels. “I’m a big proponent of running away from my problems.”

“We always knew I was better than you,” he teases. She smacks him lightly (yep, definitely doesn’t skip arm day) and he grins. “My way worked, didn’t it? You found me.”

“Yep,” she agrees, her breath catching when she sees the warmth in his eyes. “Right where I left you. Surrounded by books.”

“You’re one to talk. How long have you been back in town?”

“I got in this morning,” she admits, blushing. 

His grin widens. “Here you are on your  _ first day back, _ and you’re already getting a library card. I bet you don’t even have groceries yet.”

“I’m planning to get takeout.”

“Planning since when?”

She pauses. “Since five seconds ago.”

“I’m not shaming you, Griffin. You clearly have your priorities straight.”

“If I’d known you were gonna give me such a hard time I would’ve held off a few days.”

Bellamy snorts. “You knew. Or else you thought I’d have grown into an entirely new personality.” His eyes flicker back to the screen. “We need a phone number for your file.”

“Oh the  _ library _ wants my phone number, huh?” 

“I can get it for myself tonight when I come over. If you’re up for visitors, that is. I could bring food and help you unpack?”

He’s still staring at the computer, hands poised over the keys as if she’s going to start spouting numbers rapid-fire. Like he’s nervous she somehow doesn’t want to hang out with him.

“That sounds great,” she tells him. 

He meets her gaze again, his smile soft and a little disbelieving. “Great,” he echoes. “It’s a-- plan.”

She leaves the library before his shift is over, needing to pick up things like toilet paper and light bulbs and a shower curtain. As she wanders the aisles of Target, she finds herself replaying the interaction with Bellamy. The crinkle of his eyes when he smiles, the mannerisms that haven’t changed over time. The way he almost called their plans a date.

That was what he was going to say, wasn’t it? Until he swerved at the last second.

She wouldn’t mind. It’s been a long while since she was simultaneously this attracted to someone and this comfortable around them. 

And it’s not like she didn’t see that coming. Even if she didn’t know he looked like  _ that _ now, she remembers being twelve and trying to figure out whether she liked girls or boys or both, and wondering, for a period, if her type was simply  _ Bellamy. _

After she moved, she thought it might just be her memory. That it would be like returning to your elementary school, only to find that the hallways are smaller than she remembered. That he wouldn’t, couldn’t live up to the hype. 

She can now unequivocally say that she was wrong. Bellamy Blake still makes her smile, still makes her giddy. Barely ten minutes together and she knows that if she lets herself, she could fall hard and fast for him.

That’s enough to send her spiraling into a full-fledged freak out.

“Get it together,” she whispers sternly. For all she knows, he’s taken. Or gay. Or not as like his preteen self as the few minutes they’d spent together might have suggested. There’s no reason to get ahead of herself like this.

By the time he shows up at her place, she’s pretty much talked herself off the ledge. But then she opens the door, sees him standing there with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, tie gone, bearing a stack of tupperware containers and a bottle of wine, and her stomach goes into free fall.

“Housewarming present,” he says, passing her the wine. “I didn’t know what you liked, so I got what  _ I _ like and figured if you don’t drink it, I’ll just have more of an excuse to come over.”

Clarke laughs and steps aside, catching a heady whiff of his cologne as he passes.

“Devious.”

“I try. Kitchen?”

“To the left.”

Putting down her deposit on the townhouse had felt  _ good _ . Right. Like she was settling somewhere she might want to stay, ready to make a life for herself. It feels even more like a home with Bellamy there, despite the maze of boxes and lack of furniture.

The kitchen is tiny but she doesn’t mind. For one thing, she’s not that great a cook. For another, it means she has a reason to press up against Bellamy’s side while he’s unloading the boxes of food.

“I thought you were bringing takeout.”

“I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I raided my own fridge for leftovers.” He produces a stack of paper plates from under his arm. “I’m not used to cooking for just one person, so I have plenty to spare.”

“You made all this?” She asks wonderingly, sniffing at the container in front of her. It unsurprisingly smells incredible.

“It’s not like it’s hard to follow a recipe.” He sounds amused, and when she looks up at him-- his face  _ very _ close-- the twist of his lips makes her heart stutter.

“Pretty sure this is witchcraft,” she manages.

“Next time, we can cook together and I’ll teach you.”

_ Next time, _ she thinks, bumping her hip against his. “Sounds great.”

She hasn’t bought a couch yet, so they end up on the floor, paper plates resting on boxes like a table between them, passing the bottle of wine back and forth since Clarke hasn’t yet come across her wine glasses. The sun has set and the mostly empty rooms are lit with the soft yellow light of her lamps, set up on the floor since she doesn’t have tables yet.

“Don’t tell me: you packed without any semblance of an organizational system.”

“I packed things where they fit,” she says defensively. “It all got here, I’m pretty sure.”

“You’re a mess, Griffin,” he says, shaking his head with a smile. “Good to know some things don’t change.”

When they finish eating, he takes it upon himself to fill the built-in shelving units with her books and DVDs.

“It’s literally what I do,” he says, sorting them into stacks she doesn’t understand. She hides her smile in her closet, hanging clothes at random. If it were anyone else, she’d assume they got enough of that at work. But Bellamy Blake will never have enough of books.

“Good entertainment organization is my most practical need,” she says with mock solemnity.

“Point me to the box of practical things and I’ll get right on it,” he challenges. She sticks her tongue out.

As easy as it is to fall back into friendship with Bellamy, as much as she recognizes in him and he in her, it’s clear they aren’t the same people they used to be. 

He tells her about his teenage years of rebellion, about the fights he started, and the ones he learned to finish. About Octavia, who never kept her own anger on a leash and fights tooth and nail against the injustices of the world. About how he learned to let himself be the center of his world sometimes, instead of his sister.

She tells him tales of broken hearts and broken trust, the paths that lead her to great heights and the ones that crumbled beneath her feet. All of them revealing, affecting who she is. She tells him about learning to know herself, about learning that fight and flight aren’t her only options, that sometimes she can make peace.

Moving at that age, so suddenly and drastically, left her feeling torn from her old life. As they catch up, she realizes that their ragged edges, smoothed some with time, might still fit together. In friendship, if nothing else.

“What brought you back here?” He asks eventually.

They’re back in the kitchen. He’s unwrapping bowls from newspaper and placing them gently in her cabinets. She’s sorting through a box of mugs and hair products and the occasional tube of paint, searching for the coffee filters she knows she’ll want in the morning.

“I don’t know,” she admits, pausing to look up at him. “I liked D.C. but I never managed to get-- attached to it. I never put down roots there, or made friendships I wanted to last for fifty years. My mom told me not to get my hopes up about moving back here. She thinks it’s all in my mind.”

“Is it?”

She shakes her head.  “I already feel more at home here… more  _ myself _ here than I have in a long time.” 

“So you think you’ll stay a while?” His voice is gruff, an attempt at distance. At not caring about the answer, even if Bellamy has no idea what it is to not care about something.

“As long as I can.”

“Good.” He nods, trying to look unaffected and failing happily. “It’s getting pretty late. I should probably go.”

“Thanks for coming by. It was really good to see you.”

“I’m not sure if you understand how hard it’s gonna be to get rid of me,” he says, amused. “Full disclosure, I got your number from our system. But I won’t give it to anyone if you don’t want me to yet; once O finds out you’re back, this life of quiet nights in will be history.”

“Give it to her if she asks,” Clarke laughs. “Hopefully I’ll run into her soon. I’m also hoping to see you around a lot.”

“Me too.” He smiles softly. “You know where to find me.”

“That I do.” She considers for a moment, then rises up on her toes to hug him and press a kiss to his cheek. “Missed you, Bell.”

His hand ghosts along her back, like he’s not sure she’s real, and when she pulls away there’s definitely a ruddy tint to his cheeks.

“Missed you too.”

The problem, she decides the next morning, is that he has her number but she doesn’t have his. The ball is entirely in his court as to when they might hang out again, which sucks since she doesn’t really know anyone else here. Doesn’t want to see anyone else here half as badly.

But she does know where to find him, so she fills her extra-large travel mug with coffee and heads over to the library. Unpacking be damned.

He spots her the minute she walks through the door, grinning wide and brilliant.

“Just couldn’t stay away, huh?” He teases when she’s within appropriate earshot. It is a library, after all.

“Needed wifi and a place to hang out to apply for jobs, and word on the street is this place is going digital.”

“I think we can hook you up,” he agrees. “You need anything?”

“All set.”

She settles in an armchair by the window, where she can’t see Bellamy when he’s at the desk-- she can’t afford that kind of distraction-- but is in his path if he’s shelving books or helping someone find something. Or maybe anywhere she sat would be in his path, she thinks when he tugs on her hair as he passes behind her for the third time in an hour. Maybe he’d go out of his way. That seems like a Bellamy thing to do.

He comes over after a few hours and taps her on the shoulder.

“I’m gonna eat lunch at the picnic tables out front. Care to join me?”

“Sure,” Clarke says, closing her laptop. She’s been semi-productive, and it’s a nice day. And she doesn’t know how to say no when he’s inviting her somewhere.

“What’s your plan for the rest of the day?” He asks, setting his bag of chips between them to share.

“Don’t know if you noticed last night, but I have a few furniture-related needs I was hoping to resolve.”

“I did notice we were sitting on the floor.”

“Nothing gets past you.” He flicks an acorn at her.

“Need any help with heavy lifting? I’m off at four today.”

“I’m not going to say no to that.” She flicks the acorn back. “But moving is the worst. You don’t have to keep offering to help me.”

“I figure we can get O and her boyfriend to help, and that way she’ll be too tired to make us do something social tonight in celebration of your return.”

“Like I said, devious.”

Octavia isn’t free until after dinnertime, but she promises (in all-caps, with a plethora of emoji and exclamation points) to bring come help unload whatever they buy and get it in Clarke’s house.

“Ooh, you should definitely get this one,” Bellamy says, crouching down to better inspect a side table with a mosaic top. They’re at the largest Goodwill in the county, which means what they find will be cheap but also likely eclectic. "It's so colorful. You're artsy, it fits."

“I’m pretty sure it’s supposed to go on a patio or something.”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t  _ have _ to.”

“Good point. It probably doesn’t care as long as it has a good home.”

"It just wants to be loved."

She sets it on the dolly, perching it precariously atop a heinous green chest of drawers. He attempts to talk her into an oversized beanbag chair, and then a porch swing for extra seating, as well as a lamp with slightly pornographic monkeys on it, and seems delighted every time he makes her laugh.

On their way back to Clarke’s house they stop off to pick up a couch she’d found on Craigslist that afternoon. Octavia isn’t off work by the time they’ve arrived, but the two of them manage to maneuver it through her door and into the living room.

“We should’ve waited for your sister,” Clarke pants, flopping onto her new sofa dramatically. It’s huge and very comfortable. A quality purchase.

“She’s definitely the powerhouse in the family,” he agrees, flopping down next to her.

“You sure about that?” She looks him over and raises an eyebrow. He shrugged out of his work shirt as soon as they set the couch down, leaving him in a thin undershirt that shows off his musculature quite nicely. She’s been doing her best not to ogle him.

He quirks an eyebrow back at her, smirking.

“Like what you see?”

“You’re so dreamy, Bell,” she teases, rolling her eyes and elbowing him.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” he says, wrapping his arm securely around her shoulders and pulling her in to kiss the top of her head. She snuggles into his side, not wanting to really ever move. “I thought about this a lot, you know.”

“About me?” She looks up at him, chin resting on his shoulder, and he nods.

“About what it would be like to see you again.”

“How does reality compare?”

His eyes are dark and warm, his fingers gentle as he tucks a curl back behind her ear.

“I didn’t imagine it would go quite this well.”

Her breath catches in her throat. She’s trying to find words when the front door opens with a bang and Octavia comes barreling in, a giant of a man following in her wake.

“Clarke Griffin, get over here!”

Bellamy smiles and nudges her up so that Octavia can pull her into a bone-crushing hug. He really wasn’t kidding about her being a powerhouse.

“Hey, Octavia. It’s good to see you.”

“Man, it’s been forever.” She pulls back to study Clarke with intense scrutiny. She’s sharper angles now, her childhood softness long gone, but she’s every bit the whirlwind she was at nine. “How are things?”

“Oh, you know. Cross-country move, reconnecting with people I haven’t seen in half my life. Attempting to move a couch and realizing how out-of-shape I am.”

“So crazy but good,” Octavia laughs. 

“Basically.”

“I can relate.” She turns to the man behind her. “This is my boyfriend, Lincoln.”

“Nice to meet you.” His voice and smile are soft, a juxtaposition against his massive frame. Clarke likes him immediately.

“You too. I’m Clarke.”

“Yes, I heard a lot about you on the drive over. Octavia says you have furniture you need help with?”

“Not too much,” Bellamy pipes up. She jumps, not having realized he was standing quite so close behind her. “With you guys giving us a hand, it shouldn’t take long at all.”

Once they get everything inside, Octavia takes it upon herself to mount Clarke’s TV on the wall for her. Bellamy hovers, ever the worried older brother, while Lincoln helps Clarke hang other things-- art, photos of Wells and her parents and Raven, a mirror in her bedroom. 

“You made this?” He asks, studying one of her paintings. “You’re very talented.”

“Thank you.” She sets it on the hook and steps back to study it. “Last time I lived in this town, my paintings were less impressionist and more Power Rangers fan art.”

Lincoln chuckles. “One of the things Octavia told me about you is that you always had paint all over you.” He gives her a sideways look. “And that you got paint all over Bellamy, too.”

A blush rises to her cheeks, so quick she can only assume it knew it would be coming on sooner or later.

“I always warned him about wet paint. Not my fault he never listened.”

“It was worth it,” Bellamy says from behind her. She jumps a little, turning to find him leaning against the doorframe with his hands in his pockets, his expression fond. “O is ordering pizzas. Any requests?”

“No anchovies.”

He smiles. “That’s what I told her.”

They pull out what’s left of the wine from last night, conversation flowing into easy laughter. When they finish the food, Octavia and Lincoln make moves to go. Bellamy stays on the couch, looking for the world like he’s too content to move.

Octavia raises one eyebrow at her brother but doesn’t say anything, to Clarke’s surprise.

“Come by the gym sometime,” she says, pulling Clarke into another hug.

“If I don’t, you have my permission to peer pressure future me.”

“Deal.” She grins, toothy and predatorial, throwing one last look at her brother before she makes her exit. When she’s gone, Clarke drops back onto the couch beside Bellamy, abruptly exhausted.

“She wear you out?” He teases.

“In a good way.” She throws her feet across his lap, his hand moving to her ankles like a reflex. “I like Lincoln.”

“Yeah, he’s a good guy.”

“And here I had you pegged as the overprotective, nobody-is-good-enough-for-my-sister type.”

“Nobody  _ is _ good enough for her,” he says, grinning. “But she put me in my place for meddling in her love life a long time ago.”

“And what about her?”

“What about her?”

“Does she meddle in your love life?” Clarke asks, remembering the distinct  _ lack _ of meddling when Octavia left. His lips tick upward.

“Sometimes,” he admits. “When she thinks I’m not getting my act together fast enough.” He pauses, eyes scanning her face like he’s trying to decipher her expression. “I can’t tell if she’s gave me a break tonight because you only just got back, or if she’ll decide enough is enough since my thing for you is going on twenty years.”

A laugh bubbles out of Clarke before she can stop it. She catches his other hand in her own, lacing their fingers together.

“That is quite a bit of time,” she says, cheerful. “I mean, you can’t rush these things, but… you can a  _ little _ , right?”

He snorts. “I told myself I was gonna wait for you to get settled before I made a move.”

“That’s very sweet.” She raises their hands to her mouth, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “But unnecessary.”

“Oh?”

She nods. “I guess I’ll just have to make the first move.”

“I don’t know.” He leans closer, his hand trailing up to her knee, then skipping to cup her jaw. “You just moved across the country. I can meet you halfway on this one.”

She hasn’t been waiting for Bellamy. Truly, she hasn’t. But she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t imagined this before, hadn’t played out the  _ what if _ scenarios every which way. She kisses him eagerly, pulling gently on his bottom lip when he laughs at her enthusiasm. Her fingers slide straight into his hair, like they knew that’s where they wanted to be all along. It’s playful and sweet, a sigh of relief when you come home after a long day.

“Twenty years, huh?” She laughs, tearing away to catch her breath.

He groans and feathers kisses along her jaw. “Something like that.”

They aren’t the same people they were when Clarke moved away. She knows that. But she’s excited to get to know Bellamy all over again. She’s looking forward to knowing him better than she ever has.

“Good,” she says, pulling his lips back to hers. “Glad we’re on the same page.”


End file.
